I Owe Him So Much
by HamburgerLover25
Summary: (College!AU) John Watson is attending King's College London Medical School, living his life day to boring, dull, depressing day. But then he meets a transfer student, one that has all the professors gossiping like school-children, and everything changes. (Note: This is my first fanfic on here! Enjoy! Rated M for language.)
1. Epilogue

**Epilogue:**

As happy as I was to be leaving home for University, I was also scared, even though I wouldn't admit it aloud. I've never really been on my own before. Usually Harry was with me or Mike but as far as I know, Harry has run off with her girlfriend and Mike was going to the London University for Science.

I, on the other hand, had been offered a place at King's College London. Figuring it would be easier to get my own flat instead of having to pay for the living expenses, I found myself a nice cheap place just outside of the London campus. 110 Wayward Street, practically rundown, it was, but I could afford it.

Life seemed to be good and I knew that I was going places. I had my entire life planned out when I was 16, you know. I was going to graduate with my Masters in Medicine and  
change the world. I was going to support a happy family, a wife and a few kids maybe. Things were going to grand, despite how alone I was.

Then I met the most arrogant, self-centered, frustrating, intelligent, fantastic man in the world and my vision for the future was shattered. The strangest things happened when he was around and nothing seemed to make sense until he would explain it. Sometimes, he would get me into major trouble and I thought it would be the end of me, but it all managed to be okay in the end.

I was so alone and I owe him so much.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

A loud screech from across the room startled me awake. I sat up quickly, gasping for breath as I clutched the blankets close to my heart, my arms tense. I could feel the sweat coating my forehead as the remnants of the nightmare faded away.

_It was just a dream._ I thought to myself. _It was nothing but a dream._

I knew enough about the human consciousness to know that sometimes dreams really meant nothing, that they were just a projection of your imagination and could be easily changed or forgotten. But nightmares were different. I didn't really know about nightmares. But you rarely forget nightmares.

Groaning, I shook my head and tossed the blankets away, stumbling over to my desk where my alarm clock sat. It read '6:30' in big, red, blocked numbers. Why hell am I waking up at 6:30 in the bloody morning? Oh, that's right. I have an early seminar today with . With an annoyed grunt, I shut off the damn thing and tossed it back onto my desk.

Walking back over to my bed, I flopped myself down and sighed again. Could I skip the lecture today? Surely it couldn't hurt my grades. I was at the top of my class. Missing one lecture couldn't hurt me, could it? Of course, I was at the top of my class _because _I didn't miss any lectures, but that's beside the point.

I looked around my room in boredom. Two walls were white and two were blue, my favorite colour. Like that would've made a difference in anything. There were two windows, one showing my front yard and the other giving me a lovely view of the side yard before it met with another wall, adorned with thin, white curtains that didn't do much besides collect dust. A few posters of my favorite rugby team were taped up here and there, showing that someone actually did live here, even if it wasn't really living.

Truth is, I was too tired to care. It was the same thing every day and it would be the same thing every day for the rest of my life. Wake up, go to class, come back, and go to sleep. Wake up, go to work, come back, and go to sleep. An endless road with no exits.

_Might as well go to that fucking lecture._ I thought. _I'm already awake._ I forced myself to get out of my bed and walk down the hall to my bathroom. Maybe a long shower would wake me up. I yawned as I turned the water on and let it heat up as I stripped down. Before I climbed in, however, I managed to catch a glimpse of myself in the sink mirror.

Now, I didn't have image issues, I was just honest and realistic. I was skinny, yeah, but it's not like I have a six-pack underneath my t-shirt or anything. I had my father's dirty blonde hair, which was long enough to graze my ears, and his green eyes. On the other hand, I also had my mother's shortness and her nose. Genetics….sometimes you just have no choice.

I shook my head and climbed into the shower, letting the hot water sting my skin. The steam burned my eyes and I quickly grabbed my shampoo. The scent of fresh soap and shampoo woke me up and cleared my head. I needed to hurry up.

My shower didn't take long, considering my pipes were horrible and the hot water ran out quick. I dried off and wrapped the towel around my hips as I walked out of the bathroom to get dressed.

The sun had finally showed itself in the sky and it was surprisingly bright out for 7:00 in the morning. I looked at my mobile phone to make sure my alarm wasn't wrong and sure enough, it was. 8:30?! Class started in 20 minutes!

I shouted in surprise and quickly tugged on a pair of pants and jeans while grabbing a stripped jumper and my old pair of sneakers. I slung the computer bag that sat hanging from my desk chair over my shoulder and ran out of my front door, almost forgetting to grab my keys before I shut the door.

_WHY DIDN'T I CHECK MY PHONE FIRST?!_ I scolded myself silently.

I didn't bother trying to hail a taxi; they never stopped anyways unless you were a fit woman or a rich bloke. I ran straight for the bus stop two blocks over and got on the first bus I saw that would take me to the campus. Though with my luck, I had to wait there for seven minutes before one finally showed up. It would take around ten to get to the campus on time and that only left me three minutes to get to the lecture hall.

It seemed like hours before the bus finally stopped in front of King's College London but as soon as those doors opened, I bolted and took off down the street, running like a madman to the lecture hall. I ran into a few other students and a pole or two and I arrived just in time to take a seat. _Thank you, rugby training!_ I thought as I almost passed out.

"John Watson?" said her voice full of venom. Apparently, she noticed that I was late.

"Um…yes?" I panted.

"You are late…again." She glared at me and folded her arms across her chest.

Professor Rockerfeld wasn't a scary lady. In fact, she was the least intimidating person I have ever met. But if you were ever late to her class, like I was almost every day, she would chew you up and spit you out. But today, it seemed like she wasn't hungry for a serving of John.

"Sorry, Professor Rockerfeld. It won't happen again." I attempted to smile at her but I think it turned out to be more of a grimace.

"Hmm," She pursed her lips and looked down her nose. "That's exactly what you said the last fourteen times."

A wave of chuckles swept through the hall and I felt my face turn red as I tried to pass it off with a smile, even though I really just wanted to leave.

"Nevertheless, you are here, so we shall begin." She cleared her throat and turned to the class. "Pay attention everyone. Tomorrow, a transfer student will be joining our class so you are to be kind and helpful, do you understand?" She said sternly.

Once again, whispers spread throughout the hall because people obviously had nothing else to do besides gossip.

"Transfer student?"

"We're getting a transfer student?"

"I wonder where he's from."

"Shut up, Charlie. It could be a girl."

"I hope she's fit, then." A smack resounded throughout the hall.

I honestly shared their curiosity. Who would transfer over only after a few months? A spark of interest ignited deep inside me before I quelled it with one thought: _focus on your school, you lazy twat. Remember your plan. Family, Masters, your entire future depends on school._

That seemed a bit unfair, didn't it? That the rest of my life depended on how well I did on tests in a small moment in my life. That was enough to psych anyone out. Was it even worth it? All this studying and school. What good was it in the end? It was just a piece of paper. All this money for one little piece of paper.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I couldn't start thinking that way. School was important. I had to finish. Besides, I had barely even started.

"Hey, John!" A voice said to me. "You comin' to tonight's party, mate?" I turned and saw it was Charlie, the boy who had been smacked.

"Yeah, Charlie. I'll be there." I smiled half-heartedly. "It'll be a blast."

"Damn right!" Charlie laughed. Charlie was the first person to talk to me when I arrived here on my first day. Since then, I guess he could be considered my best friend, even though we barely knew each other and we only ever talked about parties and girls. He liked to joke about how many girls would want to shag him, as if that was ever going to happen.

"Just wait until it happens to you!" He would laugh. But he's wrong.

Nothing ever happens to me.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

The lecture passed without any interruptions, sadly. I spent the last half hour doodling cartoons over my notes, if that's what you could call them. How many times was Professor Rockerfeld going to talk about advanced medicinal techniques?

When she finally let us out of that damned hall, it seemed like half of the day had passed by and I was headed back to my flat because really, what else was there in this world that was worth being awake for? I yawned and tightened my grip on my computer bag before I felt a _buzz!_ in my pocket.

**Charlie:**

_Hey! dont forget about 2nites party!_

I sighed as I remembered his invitation at the beginning of the lecture. Why did I tell him I would go to his damned party? I was too tired for that. _I'll just cancel on him._

_Sorry, mate. I'm going to have to cancel._

**BUZZ!**

_Really?! mary will be there ;D_

Mary? I raised my eyebrows in interest. Mary was in my Chemistry 104 course. Sure, she was very pretty, but I've only ever talked to her once. She was very self-confident, saying the strangest things, but it was kind of charming. _Maybe I will go…_

_Alright, what time will it be?_

**BUZZ!**

_nice! XD come on over after ur last class, k?_

I smiled at my phone before shoving it into my pocket. Well, looks like I actually have something to look forward to. Charlie really needed to stop texting like an idiot, though.

My last class of the day was Psychology, probably one of the worst courses I possibly have to take. It's not that I disliked the subject, I found it to be rather interesting, but it was the _professor!_ Professor Smith was an absolute bore and I wasn't surprised when I looked around and saw that half of the class had fallen asleep as he continued to drone on at the front of the room.

I rested my chin in the palm of my hand and looked around, trying to keep myself from falling asleep. It was a fairly large classroom, with seats circling the front of the room as if it were an arena. A podium stood at the front of the room with a large blackboard behind it, where the one Professor Smith stood.

I looked at the clock above the door, willing it to go faster so I could finally leave here, when something caught my eye. I squinted and looked closer at the small window that adorned the door. There was a man, just standing there, watching. Was he lost? As far as I could tell, he had midnight-black, curly hair that almost went past his eyes. He looked at the professor and then raised a paper to his face. Shaking his head, he shrugged what I guess was a bookbag onto his shoulder and walked away.

_What the fuck?_ I thought, my face contorted into a confused expression. I guess Professor Smith thought I was confused on his lesson because he called on me.

"Watson, do you have a question to ask or are you too busy admiring the door?" His voice was slow and monotonous, which was the reason most of us fell asleep listening to him.

"Um…ah…n-no, sir." I stammered back, looking back and forth between him and the door where the strange man had stood. Who was he?

When the class was _finally_ over, I gathered up my things and slowly walked out of the classroom. I was brain dead. There was no way I was going to pass this year. My brain was mush and all these professors managed to do was keep it that way. I was dead.

I sighed as I took a bus into town. I was almost out of food anyways, so I might as well get some while I went to pick up some wine-coolers for Charlie. I got off the bus and walked to the closest grocer I could find. I didn't plan on drinking much, though. It ran in my family, alcoholism. Harry was a pretty bad example. We used to be pretty close before she met Clara and alcohol, her mistress. Then we drifted apart and here we are today.

In the midst of my pity party, I stopped paying attention to where I was going and ran into someone, dropping my tomatoes and causing them to drop their…eyeballs?

"Oh, I'm so sorry…wasn't paying attention." I apologized, reaching down to pick up my tomatoes.

"Well, maybe you should start." A deep voice responded to me. I looked up from my crouched position and saw a tall man with porcelain skin and dark, curly hair. He wore faded jeans and Vans, with a purple shirt and a black hoodie. He seemed about my age, if maybe a little younger.

"I'm…s-sorry, have we met…before?" I said as I looked at his familiar face. And that hair, that hair was so familiar.

"I doubt it. You would remember me if you had." He said, picking up his bag of eyeballs. Then it hit me. He was the strange man from the door!

"Oh! Weren't you outside Professor Smith's classroom earlier?" I exclaimed. Yes, it was definitely him.

"Yes, as it happens, I was. Why? Are you a student of his? Oh, of course you are." He said, giving me a dismissing wave of his hand as he bent down to grab his eyeballs.

I stood up and brushed of my jeans and looked at him again. He was taller than I had originally thought, taller than me by at least a head or two. Damnit, why was everyone fucking taller than me? The height issue was quickly chased from my mind, though, as I saw the bag of eyeballs once more.

"May I ask why you have a bag of eyeballs?"

"Well, you already did ask so it was pointless to ask permission." He began to walk away and for some reason, I followed him.

"They aren't human…are they?"

"Well, of course not! What idiot would bring a sack of human eyeballs to a grocery market? Honestly. They're fish eyes. The manager here gives them to me for a bargained price."

"Why do you need fish eyes?" I asked.

"Why do you keep asking questions?" The man stopped and turned around to face me, his features torn between annoyed and confused.

"Maybe because…..because I want to know." I shrugged, not being able to think of a better solution.

"Hmm." He mused, narrowing his eyes. I guess that was enough of an answer for him because, without saying another word, he turned around and continued to walk away.

Confused, I stood there for a while before realizing I didn't know his name.

"I'm John Watson, by the way. What's yours?" I offered, figuring that if he was at Professor Smiths room, he must be a student there as well.

"Sherlock Holmes." He offered. "I would say it was nice to meet you, John, but seeing as you made me drop my eyes, I can't really offer you that comfort. Afternoon."

And just like that, he walked out of the store, leaving me shocked in the middle of the aisle. I probably would've stood there all day, too, if Charlie hadn't texted me again.

**Charlie:**

_John, where r u, m8? _

Right, the party. I was going to a party. I was going to hang out with Charlie and Mary. But even though I was going to a party, I couldn't stop thinking of Sherlock Holmes. What a strange man.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

The music was loud from where I stood on the street outside of Charlie's house. I felt bad for the people inside who must definitely be deaf by now but they were probably too pissed to notice, either way. I sighed and walked to the front door, slightly nervous even though these people were my friends. Well, kind of.

The door opened before I could actually knock and there stood Charlie, grinning like a fool with a beer in his hand. He completely reeked of alcohol and he was actually swaying.

"John!" He yelled over the music, his speech slurred. "You are four hours fucking late! What the hell?"

"Sorry, Charlie." I responded, laughing. "I got a little distracted."

"Well, damn, I hope you was with a girl. That would be a good excuse, you fucker."

"Shut up and let me in, you cock." I laughed, shoving past him as he threw his arm around my shoulders and guffawed in my ear.

Not even five minutes in and I was burning up. All those people and the dancing and the drinking made it feel like hell. Nevertheless, when people would offer me a drink, I sure as hell didn't turn it down. After a few more hours, the bottle of vodka became my best friend.

"John! John! J-J-Johahahahahoonn!" Someone called from across the room. I was sitting down on the floor playing a drinking game with a few other people and giggling my ass off. I looked up and saw Charlie dragging some guy over to me and shoved him in front of me.

"This is my roommate, Greg! Greggy, say hiiiiiii!" Charlie laughed, barely able to finish his sentence. I think he was high, to be honest.

"Hey, John." Greg smiled softly. He was calm and quiet, so I assume he wasn't drunk like the rest of us fuckers.

"Heeyyy!" I smiled, leaning to my left a little for some odd reason. "Wa-Wazzup?" I laughed.

"Oi, Greg, John's been here for HOURS!" Charlie shouted. "I…I think…"he giggled. "I think you should take him home, you designated twat."

"You flatter me, Charlie." Greg punched him in the arm, but I could see a smile on his face…..I think. "Let's go, John."

"O-okay." I hiccupped, smiling. I don't know what was going on, but I swear to God I had just gotten here. As I stood up and wobbled around, trying to regain my balance, I realized how drunk I was. Everything was warped and colorful….or maybe that was just the lights….wait, when did lights appear?

The next thing I knew, I woke up in a strange car that smelled of cigarettes and cologne. I panicked, sitting up straight and looking around wildly, but my head throbbed and I winced.

"Woah, John, take it easy!" A familiar voice said to me. "You okay, mate?"

I forced my eyes open, despite the painful glare of light, and looked for the source of the voice. I saw a tall man, standing outside of the window, with two coffees in his hand. Well, at least, I _assumed _they were coffee, going by the smell. He also had brown hair seemed okay, but people these days were crazy and you could never trust them. Like that serial killer cabbie that they arrested a few weeks ago. That was something.

"Umm..."I shook my head, trying to clear it of random serial killer thoughts. "Um…wh-who are you?"

"I'm Charlie's friend, remember? Greg? Ah, you probably don't, seeing as you were pissed beyond life last night." His voice was loud to my drunk ears and I grimaced.

"Do you think you could talk quieter, please?" I asked.

"NOT REALLY!" He shouted, happier than he should've been. I groaned and rubbed my head.

"Sick fucker. Where am I, anyway, Greg?"

"We're in front of your flat. You refused to get out of my car, so I've stayed here all night because of you."

"Sorry."

" S'okay. Here." He handed me a coffee.

I took it happily and drank a sip, fighting the urge to grimace when it hit me. This is why I preferred tea. Coffee was so bitter. It was gross. I put it to the side, pretending I liked it, although I could tell by his face that he didn't believe me, and that he didn't care.

"So, Greg, you have a last name?" I asked.

"Lestrade. What about you, John?"

"Watson."

"That's a weird name."

"So is Lestrade." Greg smiled and shook his head, opening the car door. "John," He said. "you and I are going to be good friends." He laughed loudly.

I raised my eyebrows and climbed out rather stiffly and made my way up to my apartment, Greg following me for whatever reason, although he claimed it was because he didn't want me passing out and falling down the stairs. I ignored him, though. Despite his charm, I was very annoyed and I wasn't feeling all that chipper, either, if you could believe it.

When we got to my door, I turned to say bye and thank Greg but before I could say anything he raised his hand.

"Nice to meet you, John Watson." I grabbed his hand.

"Same to you, Greg Lestrade. Thanks for taking me home and letting me sleep in your car."

"Whatever, mate. No big deal. See you later, yeah?"

"Sure."

"Oh, I'll be busy all day, so I'm having a friend bring over the things you left at Charlie's party and a few things to help you feel better. Trust me, nothing cures a hangover like my special blend of coffee, mate. Nothin'." He smiled, waving as he took off.

"Alright…I-I guess." I stammered. "Wait! What did I leave at Charlie's flat?"

"Lots of things, actually. Your watch, your wallet, your shoes, and your phone."

"All of that shit? You've got to be fucking kidding me! Did anyone take anything?"

"Naw, mate, you're good. I kept it safe while we were there, on behalf of Charlie. I guess he knew that you'd be trashed, huh?"

"I guess." I agreed, darkly. Damn Charlie. Damn him to the worst fucking place in hell.

"See ya, Greg." I sad as I turned around.

"See ya, John."

When I got inside, I took a long, hot shower and popped some pain-killers in and sat down in front of the telly, relishing the fact that I had no classes today. I watched some re-runs of old shows I used to watch as a kid growing up with Harry before I fell asleep in my chair.

Unfortunately, I didn't sleep long before a loud knock sounded on my door, startling me awake. I looked at my clock, since I had left my watch and phone at Charlie's flat, and saw that an hour had already gone by. This must be Greg's friend, then.

Grumbling, I got up from my chair and swiped a hand over my face, as if trying to wipe away the look of exhaustion and disappointment in myself at drinking. Don't get me wrong, I'm nothing like a prude, but I didn't want to end up like my father and like Harry.

I answered the door and my eyes were face to chest with a tall man at the door. The shirt was a white button up shirt with a black hoodie covering it on both sides. I looked down and saw a pair of black Vans and a pair of faded jeans, but they seemed a little tighter than necessary.

"John, please don't stand there all day." A deep, smooth voice said to me. I looked up and saw a mop of black, curly hair and sharp, blue eyes.

"You?" I questioned. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Obviously, I'm here to drop off your things. I believe Greg mentioned I would be coming by."

"YOU'RE the friend Greg was talking about?"

"Obviously." He sniffed. "Well?"

"Oh! Uh, sorry….Sherlock, was it?" I asked, trying to remember his name. This was definitely the same bloke from the store, the one who had bought the fish eyes.

"I'm impressed you actually remember my name, John." He sounded condescending, but I didn't really care.

"Sorry, I'm a bit out of it today, as I guess you probably already know. You wanna come inside, then?"

"If you insist."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**(A/N: I am so sorry for the extremely delayed updates! I had been super busy with work and then I realized I was typing up the wrong story so I had to go and redo EVERYTHING! DX Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Sherlock franchise, much to my disappointment. But, I do own all the extra characters and the plotline so please be respectful. Enjoy! I'm sorry if it's boring. I have a hard time writing in the mind-set of John and I always make him seem like Sherlock instead. I might change the point of view permanently soon, but tell me what you think! Reviews will be responded to!)**

"So," I started as I walked towards the area that I assumed was a kitchen, even though I barely used it. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you." Sherlock said, looking around my flat with what looked like disinterest on his face. "No milk or honey."

"Alright." I reached for the kettle, having to push myself up on my toes to actually reach it, and put it on the stove. "Thank you for, you know, bringing back my things."

"No thanks is necessary. I doubt you could've done it, considering your drunken state."

"Er...yeah..." I had no idea what to say to that. It was kind of blunt, to be honest, and not something someone would actually say out loud.

I walked back into the front room, having the wait in the tea to boil, and observed the man in front of me. Yes, he was tall from a glance, perhaps taller than normal, but if you actually looked at him and saw that he was slightly muscular, he wasn't as tall as you would originally think. His curly black hair hung in front of his cold and calculating blue eyes, his sharp cheekbones and pale complexion making his eyes stand out. He walked with the confidence of a politician and had a sense of authority around him.

"So what are you studying, Sherlock?" I asked, the awkward silence making me rather uncomfortable.

"Criminal Justice." He said in a distant voice. "Although, to be quite honest, me being here is a complete waste of time. Nevertheless, it is mandatory."

"Why is it a waste of time?"

"I don't need to be here. I've already solved numerous cases for Scotland Yard. I practically do all the work for those amateurs. But, as I said before, it's mandatory I be here because," He paused, taking a breath before continuing on in a disgusted voice. "I'm a minor." He sounded as if he had just swallowed poison.

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't expected him to say that much about himself. I assumed he would provide the usual answer like, "Oh, it's just a piece of paper. What's the use?" or "My parents wouldn't let me pursue my real interest, interpretive dancing." Okay, Sherlock didn't seem like he enjoyed interpretive dancing, but its not any stranger than, "I'm better than Scotland Yard."

"You? How old are you, Sherlock?"

"I'm 19."

"So, you're just coming to Uni?"

"What? No, I transferred from Oxford."

"Oxford?!" He was 19 and he transferred here from Oxford? "Why the bloody hell would you leave Oxford?"

"Don't make it sound like I wanted to, John. You have just only met me. Do not make assumptions." He narrowed his eyes and I had to take a deep breath to control my mouth from making any more outbursts.

"Sorry," I apologized. "Go on, then."

"I had a full ride to Oxford when-"

"A FULL RIDE?!"

"JOHN!"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, go on.!" Jeez...

"I had a full ride to Oxford once I graduated from my A-levels*. So I attended there and I met a man, Detective Inspector Dimmock. He didn't trust me at first, when I offered him information about a case involving the murder of a young man named Carl Powers. But, eventually, he learned that I was right and soon began coming to me for help. Now-"

Sherlock was interrupted by a piercing whistle in the air, startling me from where I stood at the entrance to the kitchen. I had completely forgotten about the tea! Red from embarrassment, although I hoped Sherlock couldn't tell, I rushed into the kitchen and quickly got out two cups for the tea and rushed back into the front room where Sherlock was waiting, staring out the window onto the street.

"Here you go, then." I said, setting his cup in front of him. "Careful, though. It's hot."

"Obviously." Sherlock muttered. I ignored it, though, and sat down on the sofa across from Sherlock. I looked at him expectantly as he sat down as well. "You were saying?"

'Yes, well, I helped Dimmock for a while before we hit a bit of a snag. Then my brother had me brought here and transferred me to this place."

"Well, what was the snag?"

"I don't believe that that is any of your business." Sherlock snapped, not bothering to touch his tea

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude." I mumbled, lifting the cup to my mouth.

"You used to play rugby."

My hands hesitated as I went to put the cup down. It wasn't an abnormal thing to say, but it was the _way _he said it. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, as if he had read a fact from a file or a history book, all with the same bored tone. I looked around the flat, but there was nothing that could possibly give away the fact that I had played rugby.

"How...how did you know that?" I asked, my eyes snapping to his to meet his gaze, my face contorted in an expression of confusion.

"It's what I do. That's why I'm valuable to Dimmock. It's why Scotland Yard always needs my help."

"But how could you tell? There was nothing here to even hint that I used to play rugby."

"Oh, but everything is here, in plain sight."

"What the bloody hell are you even talking about?" He was an absolute loon! Was he a stalker? Just my luck! This is what I get for going to parties to have some stranger drive me home. I've learned my lesson. No more drinking. I'm sorry, Oh Lord, please forgive me. Just...don't let me die at the hands of a stalker.

"Calm down, John, I can see the panic in your eyes. You're one to jump to conclusions, I see. A stupid habit, but I guess its human nature."

"Did you just call me stupid?" My eyes were wide.

"No, I said you had stupid habits. There's a difference. Now, I know that you played rugby because of your tan lines. You are tanned above the wrist, see? A clear difference. Stop scratching at it, it wont make it go away. So, where do you get a strange tan like that? You're fit, obviously, so you must've played a sport. There aren't many sports to play where you would have to train as much as you had and wear gloves, so I obviously went with rugby."

"So, you guessed?"

"No, I deduced. It's not a perfected method yet, but I'm still working on it."

"You just guessed! You could've asked anyone on the way here who knew me and they could tell you! And why do you say 'used to'? What makes you think I don't play rugby now?"

"If you played rugby now, you would be at the practice field." Sherlock glared at me. "You _used to _play rugby, but you don't now because you injured your leg."

"How did-"

"Oh my GOD, John, we've been through this!" When I didn't respond, Sherlock groaned and started talking again. "Fine. I know you hurt your leg because when you walk, you limp. You don't use a cane, even though it seems pretty serious, and you don't ask for help when your hands are full and you're pretty competent at running from the way Charlie tells me you ran to class the other morning. So, you have a psychosomatic limp. Your therapist says it's due to the constant stress in your life. Could be true, but never trust therapists."

"Okay, HOW did you know I had a therapist?" He couldn't possibly know that. Not even my mum and dad know that I visit a therapist. Yet, even though it was a valid question, Sherlock looked at me incredulously.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist."

Of course...

Okay, I will admit that that is pretty cool. I can see why he would go into Criminal Justice and be an asset to Scotland Yard. But I doubt he really solved any cases. I mean, he's only 19. Besides, he probably just got lucky. Figuring out someone played a sport is different than figuring out who had committed a murder.

"But you're just 19."

"So?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"So? So how can a 19 year old solve cases for Scotland Yard? Police don't consult amateurs."

"Please, I'm not an amateur."

"Knowing why I don't play rugby anymore doesn't make you a great detective."

"No, it doesn't. May I see your phone, please?"

"My-my phone?" I asked, confused once more.

"Yes, John, your cell-phone!"

What was he getting at? I narrowed my eyes and offered my cell phone to him. He snatched it from me without hesitation and looked it over once, barely a minute in his hand, before he was handing it back to me with a smug smile.

"What?" I asked, glaring at him. "What is it?"

"No wonder you have an alcohol problem."

"Wha-I don't have a bloody alcohol problem!"

"You accepted a ride with a stranger last night and forgot most of your things at a party. I'm surprised you didn't wake up naked."

"What are you getting at, Sherlock?" I was beginning to loose my patience, and I could tell Sherlock knew it. He smirked, a cold flick of his lips, and clasped his hands in front of him.

"I can read your family relations in your phone, John. You have an expensive model, fairly new and hardly used. You obviously can't afford that, you're living in this cheap flat. So, it must've been a gift. But a gift from whom? This is a young man's gadget. So, most likely _not _an uncle or father. Perhaps a cousin but you're a military family so you aren't especially close to any distant relatives. I know you're military from the way you hold yourself, military training, but you never enlisted, otherwise you wouldn't be here, so that means your father or mother was in the military. But, I digress. So, if it wasn't a cousin, father, or uncle, it leaves a sibling. You want cheap accommodation, but you aren't living with a sibling? That probably shows that you don't have a really close relationship with said sibling. Maybe you don't like their drinking, or maybe you liked Harry's wife."

"How-"

"Further inspection shows an inscription that reads 'Harry+ Clara'. Now, whose Clara? Obviously, it's your brothers wife. Her name came second. If she had gotten it, her name would be first. It was probably a gift to Harry, since his name is first. A brand new phone and he's just giving it to you? Something must've happened. Trouble in paradise, you might say."

"Okay, how could you possibly know about the drinking?" I sighed.

"Well," Sherlock smiled. "It was a lucky guess. Good one, though. There are scratch marks around the charger outlet, which means he was disoriented while plugging in his phone to charge at night. never see a sober mans phone with those marks, never see a drunks without them."

Sherlock finished with a deep breath and looked at me, pensively, as if I might bolt out of my spot on the sofa and throw my forgotten tea at him. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. It seemed to obvious to me now that he explained it that I feel utterly stupid for not realizing it before!

"That was..."I took a deep breath and broke out into a smile. "Amazing. Absolutely incredible!" Sherlock looked stunned for a moment, scrunching his eyebrows up in confusion and opening and closing his mouth as if he hadn't known what to say.

"Really?" He asked, his voice rumbling as he tried to say it quietly.

"Yes, of course, it was absolutely amazing."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

I laughed. I laughed because I didn't know. I didn't know how much my life would change at this point or how much trouble we would get in. But with every door that closes, another one opens.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

**(Time Skip by two days)**

"And that's how you solved it?" I asked, incredulous. "His thumb?"

"Well, it obviously had to be his thumb, wouldn't it? Or else the entire thing wouldn't have made sense." Sherlock said casually, but I could hear the pride in his voice.

"Amazing." I shook my head. "That is truly amazing."

"What about you, John?"

"What? What about me?"

"We've talked about nothing but my past cases for the last two days I've been here."

"So?"

"Please, John, don't be an imbecile."

"Well, I've certainly never solved any cases, unless you count catching Ritchie Menner steal my lunch money."

"Just tell me anything. You've peaked my interest."

I've peaked his interest. Doesn't that make me feel special. Me, ordinary, plain John has caught the interest of a man who can solve a murder by looking at someones thumb and their chewing gum habit. "Well, I don't really know what to tell you that doesn't make me sound like a boring sod." I laughed at myself, but in actuality, it was true. "You already know about Harry. You know about the rugby. You know about my family. I can't think of anything to tell you that you might not already know."

"Come on, John, you can't be _that_ predictable."

"Shut up, Sherlock." I laughed. "Okay, well, then. When I was fourteen, I tried to run away from home."

Sherlock froze as he went to pick up one of the snacks I had brought out for us when he got here. When he had brought my things over two days ago, I asked him if he would like to come back, to which he answered, "Perhaps". The next day, he arrived at the exact same time as he did the day before and we talked about his cases, nothing but his cases. This was the most I've been interested in following through with plans since I started school here. So when he left, I invited him over again, to which he said nothing, but only smiled. And once more, he showed.

"Really?" He asked, unfreezing himself and grabbing a cookie.

"Yep." I drummed my fingers on the arms of my chair where I usually sat when Sherlock came over and we talked.

"Why?"

"I had gotten tired of the constant drinking and fighting. No one thought I would do it. So I did. Of course, I had nowhere to go, really, so I just went to the park beside my house and set up my things under the slide."

I don't think I've heard Sherlock laugh before. Well, I've heard him snort in derision but I've never heard him bark out a laugh like that. I felt proud that I could make such a usually stoic man laugh like that. I made myself a goal to try to do it more often. I quite liked Sherlock and I would like him to stick around.

"I didn't expect that answer, to be honest." Sherlock admitted.

"It's okay, Sherlock, you can't deduce everything." I laughed and shook my head, while reaching to grab a cookie, and accidentally grabbing Sherlock's hand instead, as it was still in the pile of cookies.

Sherlock pulled his hand away like he had been electrocuted and I pulled mine back slowly, muttering apologies before something awkward happened.

"Sorry," I said, looking at Sherlock who refused to make eye contact. "I meant to grab a cookie and I wasn't looking. Sorry."

"It's alright, John." Sherlock said quietly. "I just don't like being touched."

The silence that followed was extremely awkward, which was what I was trying to avoid. I racked my brain to think of something to say, but I couldn't think of anything. Not one bloody thing. Maybe I could ask why he doesn't like being touched. No, that was a very personal thing and if he wanted to tell me, he would.

"So..." I drawled out, breathing deeply and drumming my fingers against my chair again. "Has Mycroft budged on the idea of letting you go back to Oxford?"

"Unfortunately, no." Sherlock said, straightening out his shirt and worn jeans. "I'm to attend to this school until I graduate."

It was hard to remember that Sherlock was only 19, not that much younger than me. He acted more mature than most people I knew. Hell, he acted more mature than most of the teachers here. I was kind of envious, if I were to be honest with you. If I were that smart, it would make my life a thousand times easier.

"That can't be so bad, can it?"

"Easy for you to say. I'm surrounded by idiots and ignorant people at all times of the day." Sherlock grumbled darkly. I wasn't sure if this applied to me, as well, but I went against the urge to ask. I didn't think I wanted to find out.

"It's getting late." Sherlock said, suddenly, hopping up from his spot on the sofa and picking up his dark blue hoodie that he always wore. "I've got to be getting back to Greg's flat."

"Oh, alright." I cleared my throat and stood up to see him out the door. "Will you be coming back tomorrow, then?"

"Can't. I've got work to do tomorrow. What about breakfast?"

"I've got morning classes tomorrow." I said, an apology in my voice.

"No problem, then. Lunch will do."

"What about your experiments?"

"Would you like to see them?"

"See what?"

"My experiments, John." Sherlock smiled.

"Uh, sure. I've only got one class after lunch so I'll swing by then."

"Great. I'll be in Morgue."

"What?" I choked out. "Why?"

"For science, John!" Sherlock whirled around and I saw a huge smile on his face as he thought about his experiments I assume involve dead people. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon!"

Sherlock was out the door and down the street before I could honestly reply, so I just shut the door after him and made sure he climbed into a taxi before I went to sit back down. Sherlock was the strangest man I have ever met, but he was also the most interesting man. True, his deductions could get on my nerves and he commented on things that really didn't need a comment, but he always amazed me with his cases and I was intrigued. He was so passionate when you got him started on the right subject, like Chemistry or Crime history.

"But he can't remember the solar system." I chuckled to myself.

Besides that. Everything but the solar system.

* * *

Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, this is really just a chapter to keep you satisfied until I complete the plot and the construction I'm doing on the story. I've run into a few bumps with this, so I'll need some time to get it all smoothed over. It won't be that long, though, so don't worry! I hope you enjoyed! Reviews and messages are welcome!


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six:**

I ate my lunch slowly, my stomach feeling tight in anticipation for what Sherlock had planned for down at the morgue. When Sherlock said experiments, I had assumed he meant in a lab with chemicals and solutions and test tubes, the whole works. But then he said morgue. _Morgue. _What the fuck kind of experiments is he doing...in a fucking _morgue?! _Yet, for some reason, I found myself still wanting to go and find out for myself. What the hell, Me?

"Hey, John." A ringing voice said behind me, startling the sandwich out of my hand. I turned around, wide-eyed, and saw Mary Morstan standing there.

"M-Mary! Ha, what a...I didn't see you there." I blabbered, stuttering my words like a fool. But instead of giving me a strange look, Mary giggled and gestured with her lunch at the table.

"Mind if I sit?" She asked.

"Huh? Oh, uh, no! Of-of course! Please, sit!" I exclaimed, standing up and pulling out a seat for her, smiling like a buffoon. But who could blame me? Mary was...well, beautiful.

Mary had short hair, unlike a lot of the girls I have seen around here, and it was the whitest, strangest blonde I have ever seen, but it looked good on her. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint and she looked rather happy for someone who just left their life-sucking Chemistry class. She wore a blue blouse with black dots that complimented her skin quite well, if I might say. The sleeves were short, especially for this time of year, but let's be honest, isn't this place _always _cold?

Mary sat down next to me and placed a small green bag in front of her. It looked like a lunch bag and sure enough, she pulled out a small container of yogurt and a spoon. Mary Morstan was eating lunch with me...did this count as a lunch date? _God, _I shook my head and looked down. _I sound like a bloody teenager. _

"So, how did you like today's lesson, John?" Mary asked, looking me directly in the eye.

"Hm, well, I thought that it-it was...interesting, and-"

"I thought it was boring as horse shit." She smiled, interrupting me. I couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped from me at her words. If you looked at Mary, you wouldn't expect her to have such a foul mouth, so it seemed hilarious when she said it. And...if I dare say it...attractive.

"Yeah," I laughed. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I'm just glad it's over. I was starving in there. I was about to eat the text-book."

"Maybe you'll just absorb all of the knowledge." I smiled, flinching on the inside at me attempt at flirting. But, Mary smiled and giggled.

"Maybe. I'll have to cook it right, though. Let it simmer a bit in a broth or something." She laughed.

A silence fell between us but it wasn't strange or awkward like most would've been. It was comfortable and with both just...sat there, eating out lunch. It felt very normal, and not at all what I expected hanging around Mary would feel like.

"So, John, do you have any plans after lunch?" Mary asked, her voice dripping with innocence. "I'm free for the rest of the day, so..." She trailed off. Internally, I was jumping around, yelling and possibly punching things to feel manly, but externally, I just smiled and probably looked like an idiot.

"Um, I have a class after this, actually."

"Then what about after?" She fluttered her eyelashes in the attractive way girls do and I felt heat rising in my face as I continued to look at her. At this moment in time, I had completely forgotten about my plans with Sherlock. But who could blame me? I was talking to Mary Morstan!

"Um...uh..."I muttered, feeling like I was forgetting something. (Don't judge me, I'm just a man.) "No, actually, I think I'm free." I smiled, although it was half the smile that I gave before.

"Great! Do you want to meet me at the cafe on campus? After your class?" She sat up straighter in her seat, looking me dead in the eyes again.

"Sure thing. It's a date, then." I answered, feeling happy with myself.

"I guess it is." She pursed her lips, as if trying to hide a laugh, and stood up quickly. "I'll see you then, John. And maybe, if you're very lucky, I'll give you my number." She winked and walked away, her green bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. I watched her as she walked off, mesmerized by everything about her.

I couldn't have eaten my lunch fast enough.

Sherlock made his way to the morgue, walking faster than he normally did, which I guess was saying something since he normally walked fast anyway. He has his messenger bag over his shoulder, complete with all of the textbooks he needed, his research papers, notes, sources, and riding crop. Along with a few chemicals that shall not be disclosed for..._legal _reasons. Sherlock couldn't process what had enabled him to invite John to oversee one of his experiments. Sherlock preferred to be alone whilst testing out a theory. But at that moment, he just wanted to show John. Show-off? Impress? There were multiple terms to apply to this situation, but none of them seemed to fit, at least not to Sherlock.

As he continued down the hall, a large man in a white coat exited a room ahead of Sherlock and noticed the young 19-year old detective. Sherlock heard the small splutters of shock that usually arose when monkey-brained morons were a little dazed.

"Young man!" The doctor shouted at him in a thick and heavy accent. "You are _not _supposed to be here! Leave, or I shall be forced to call security." Sherlock rolled his eyes, barely fighting the urge to just _kick _the fat, old wanker, but advice from Mycroft resounded into his thoughts. _You can't hit anyone who upsets you, little brother. I thought you were more mature than that. _As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, Mycroft was correct, but Sherlock would never say that aloud. Besides, that advice was given to him when he was a child of age four. It barely applied to situations of his current age.

"Pardon me, Doctor!" Sherlock spun around, speaking with an apologetic dip to his voice, the sound an octave higher than usual. "I was told that I was welcome anywhere in this building."

"Told by whom?" The man barked out, puffing up his chest to seem more intimidating, although, if Sherlock were to be honest, he looked much more like a bloated crab that anything.

"By me." A female's voice announced from behind the puffer-doctor. Molly Hooper, the only one who would let Sherlock into the morgue for any reason as long as it was for his schooling. "Do you have a problem with this, Doctor Franzen?" She said.

"No, . My mistake. I apologize." He turned redder than before and rushed away, obviously back to his rat-infested apartment building. There was no mistaking those markings and hair on his clothing. It was kind of gross, actually.

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock said, his voice back to its normal timbre. "I really think you should just give me a card to give me access."

"Sherlock, I can't just do that." She huffed, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "Just get to the morgue, please, before we have any more confrontations." Even though Molly was fierce and, to quote an american colleague, "had balls", she disliked confrontation and preferred to be out of the theoretical spot-light.

In less than thirty minutes, Sherlock had managed to set up the entire experiment, as well as starting a few experiments for next week. He was excited for John, if he was being honest. No one had really ever taken an interest in these experiments, not even Mycroft, and he was the closest person, the _only _person, who understood how Sherlock's mind worked and how he interacted. Despite that, he was a horrid big brother and always will be.

Normally, Sherlock would've started by now on his main experiment, but he wanted to save that for when John came. It was the most interesting, by far, so it was only logic that that experiment would entertain him the most. Instead, Sherlock worked with his chemicals and solutions and unnameable substances until he had run out. By the time Sherlock looked up from his microscope, the clock read **5:30**. Sherlock had spent the entire day in the morgue, performing minor experiments, saving the best for last, for a person who, no surprise to Sherlock, didn't even show up.

Sherlock guessed that he should've felt hurt or angry that John hadn't come like he supposed he would, but to be honest, Sherlock had expected John _not _to show up. It wasn't a rare occurrence, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but Sherlock had thought John as more of a gentlemen. He couldn't even call to tell him? Or fucking text?

Sherlock took a few deep breaths, pushing away the raw emotion that had surfaced. It served to do nothing when one proceeded to become emotional. Sherlock had witnessed that his entire life and only continued to firmly believe that as he grew up, surrounded by it all. He pushed it away, deep into his mind palace in a room to which he dare never go, and locked it up tight, along with everything else. Now, the only thing that Sherlock could think about was his next experiment, the big one he was saving for John. He was going to enjoy this one, if he were to be truthful. He always saved the most fun for last.

As he slowly lifted the riding crop over a cadaver, his mind rushed back to the case he was given earlier that week. A woman in her late 40's, black hair, dog lover, allergic to peanuts, and in the middle of a divorce, had been murdered in an alleyway next to an auto-shop. She had no business being there, as she was obviously not a car person. The reason that Sherlock was called onto the case was that, even though the body showed signs of sever physical trauma, it wasn't the cause of death, for the beatings came _after _she had died.

Sherlock worked throughout the night, ignoring that he had classes to start tomorrow, focusing on his case. He didn't need to sleep. There were much more important things to be done. He was going to solve another case for Scotland Yard. By himself. Like always. His mind-wandered to Watson again, thinking that it would've been good to have his input, considering that he was at the top of his class and a very good potential doctor, going by his work.

But then Sherlock remembered that John didn't want to be a part of this. Not that he had said that aloud, but considering John hadn't shown up to something that he had previously seemed eager for, Sherlock could only assume that John was not as different as he expected. He was just as predictable as everyone else. He was the same as everyone else. despite how hard Sherlock tried to fight it, he couldn't keep away the feeling of sadness that crept into him.

People were all the same. And Sherlock would do whatever he could to not be apart of it.

* * *

Hey, look! Another Chapter! :D I hope you guys like this! I have got the basic idea of where this story is going, but please bear with me here, dudes. Stick with me in the end! Don't pull a John here! (Gah, too soon!)

Anyway, thank you to everyone who has "favorited" this and followed it! I am so happy that this story...well, makes you happy? I don't know, but you liked it, so I like you! :D

I would also like to just point one thing out: This is basically teen!lock, maybe? This is Sherlock BEFORE we knew him. This is the before product, the Sherlock-in-the-Making! He's going to act a little different, due to the life experiences he hasn't had yet, and his process isn't as good as it will be. So he's still basically a "green-horn"!

Tell me what you think! Like, really, please talk to me. I'm lonely :( And I would LOVE to hear what you have to say, no matter what it is! Even if it's just a little "SQUEE", I want to see it in the reviews!

Thank you for the support!


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

I laughed and smiled as Mary told me about her life. Where she grew up, why she chose this school, what she wanted to do after she graduated. I found it all very interesting, I honestly did, but there was something...amiss...about this entire situation. Something just didn't feel right to me and I couldn't shake the feeling off.

We were sitting in a small coffee shop just outside of campus. Our table was by the window so I could see every poor sap battling their way through the cold, London air. It was very cozy with strings of lights hanging across the ceiling, plush cushions on the seats, and the smell of chocolate and baked goods filling the entire shop. It made me sleepy, honestly, and I felt like I was living in a slight fog.

"But that's enough about me! tell me about you, John, the man behind the jumpers." Mary smiled, her red lipstick contrasting greatly with her pale complexion. She was beautiful, she was.

"Ah, well," I stammered. "There's not much to tell, really. Lately, Sherlock and-" I stopped abruptly.

Sherlock.

_Sherlock._

_OH MY FUCKING GOD, I FORGOT ABOUT SHERLOCK! _"John?" Mary asked, leaning across the table, her face morphing into a look of confusion. "John, are you okay?"

"Um...ah, I-M-Mary, I really-" I stood abruptly and bumped the table, spilling some of her coffee onto the surface. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry! Mary, I really need to go. I'm sorry, I just remembered something I was supposed to do! I'm truly...ah...very sorry!" I spun around quickly after tossing a few bills on the table and made my way out of the shop. It was already dark so I was positive Sherlock wasn't still at the morgue and that just pissed me off.

_Damn it, John, how could you just forget something like that? All because Mary actually talked to you today! Get a grip on yourself and stop thinking with your dick! _Deriding himself wasn't going to change the situation but I felt like I deserved it. I felt like such a complete arse!

I forgot how far Sherlock and Greg's flat was from the coffee shop. It felt like hours before I arrived at their door and I was completely out of breath, I felt lightheaded and I was sure my face was as red as a tomato. Not that I cared, but air was a pleasant thing to have, especially if someone ran non-stop halfway across town.

I banged my fist on the door and leaned against the frame, attempting to catch my breath with deep intakes of air. I made a slight wheezing noise, which worried me a little bit but I pushed it to the back of my mind. I'm probably just out of shape.

I jolted when the door swung open quite fast and I looked up to see Greg glaring down at me from where I was crouching. Was he upset? Of course he was, I probably made Sherlock upset, and he was just caring for his friend.

"Greg, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" His voice was low and angry."Do you?"

"Greg, I-"

"I was sleeping, you fat arse! Sleeping! Why would you do this to me?"

I stared at Greg in confusion. He was upset because I woke him up? What the fuck? So he wasn't upset about Sherlock?

"Sorry, Greg, but...um...hah...where's Sherlock?" I stood up straight, feeling the air steadily return to me and the tiredness of running wear off.

"Sherlock? How the hell would I know where he is? I was sleeping, you git! I don't know where he is!"

"He's not at home?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have missed him when I was searching the-NO! NOW CAN I PLEASE GO BACK TO SLEEP!"

"Alright, fuck! Go to sleep!" I started to get irritated with Greg and waved my hand at him in dismissal. Greg smiled and clapped his hands together as if he were at church. Like this bitch ever went to church.

"Thank you, Saint John of the douches." I flipped Greg off and he closed the door in my face, laughing.

So Sherlock wasn't at home. Was he still at the morgue? Why would he still be at the morgue this late? I would think they'd kick him out by now, wouldn't they?

Where the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

_Sherlock's P.O.V_

The roads were dark but the street lights illuminated the sidewalk on which Sherlock was walking. It was cold out, but that was nothing new. This was London, after all. John hadn't shown up at the morgue and he was ushered out by Molly before he could even finish my experiments. How annoying.

The streets were busy so Sherlock almost missed it, but he saw it. John. He was sitting in a coffee shop, smiling and laughing with a blonde woman Sherlock had never seen before. He took one glace over her and snorted, rolling his eyes. John had terrible taste in women if this is what he liked.

He felt angry. That was new. Sherlock couldn't recall the last time he actually felt angry, instead of irritated or bored. John forgot about him because of a woman. How...utterly typical. And disappointing. Sherlock had thought John was different, but Sherlock, for once, had been wrong. And he didn't know how he should feel about it.

He shoved his hands further into the pockets of his peacoat and continued down the street. _Forget John. He forget about you, so this is just one more thing you'll have to delete from your hard drive. _But Sherlock didn't want to delete John. He couldn't. Even if John had already deleted him.

Sherlock turned a corner, heading towards a run down building he knew was full of dealers and users. He could find temporary deletion, he suspected.

He didn't see John run out of the shop and toward Sherlock's flat.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

I spent the rest of the day wandering around town for Sherlock, but I couldn't find him. Honestly, I was starting to get worried and I felt so guilty. I tried to make the guilt go away, but it just kept showing it's fucking ugly head, and pushed me to continue my search for Sherlock.

Eventually, I had wasted the day away and walked back to my flat, heart heavy. What if something bad happened to Sherlock?

_Don't be silly, John. Sherlock can take care of himself. _

Yeah, maybe. I didn't even really know him that well, if I'm being honest.

My thoughts stopped dead in their tracks as I approached my flat and saw that the door was cracked open. I know for a fact that I had locked it this morning when I left.

_Oh, fucking shit, there's a robber in my flat! _I bent my knees and raised my arms and fists, ready to defend myself if the need arose, and slowly crept forward. I leaned against the door with my shoulder and pushed it open slowly, trying not to make any noise. The room was dark, illuminated only by moonlight and everything was quiet, everything was still. My heart was hammering in my chest and everything seemed to move in slow motion. I felt as if I were barely moving, but I was still surprised when the lamp flickered on and illuminated the room.

I jumped up, eyes whirling around the room trying to assess where the attack would come from before I realized that no one was moving and the light that was turned on was sitting on the side table by my favorite plush chair in the sitting area. In my chair sat a very tall man with unruly curly black hair. He had a thin frame and an elegant nose, but was very birdlike in the sense that he was going to pick your eye out with his beak.

Obviously, it was Sherlock.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I demanded. "How did you even get in?"

"Really, John, is that last question even necessary?" Sherlock snorted and waved his arm in the air, which flopped heavily across his chest. "I'm here..."

Sherlock trailed off, zoning out apparently. Confused, I walked forward and got a closer look at his face. His eyes were glossy and his pupils were constricted. His face was flush, as if suffering from perpetual embarrassment. I jerked my head back as his head shot up from the nodding position he had held. Sherlock slowly rubbed his eyes and moved his head around in a very un-Sherlock way.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" I asked.

"Hmm, what? Oh...hello...John..." Sherlock's speech was slurred and slow. He rubbed his nose and scratched his arm, but was turned away from me, as if he were hiding something. I narrowed my eyes at him and got closer.

"Sherlock...Sherlock, look at me." I forced him to make eye contact with me, putting up no fight at all. "...are you on drugs?"

He continued to scratch his arm, not answering my question as he nodded off again. I watched his chest rise slowly, much slower than it should. I had my suspicions, and I only needed one thing to confirm them. I reached forward to lift the sleeve of Sherlock's crumpled dress shirt, but as I made contact with his arm, he jerked up again and pulled his arm away.

"John?" Sherlock snapped, sounding confused and angry. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I-this is my flat, you cock!" I pointed at his arms. "But that's not the point. Let me see your arms."

"No."

"Sherlock, let me see them."

"No."

"I don't have time for this."

"Then fuck off before you make me angry." Sherlock snarled at me. I involuntarily took a step away, unused to this kind of vicious behavior from Sherlock, who is usually so calm and composed.

"Sherlock..."

"Where were you?" He interrupted me. "I waited for you." Sherlock was glaring at me now, a look that seemed so foreign on his face. I flushed in shame and looked away, not able to keep eye contact anymore.

"I-I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to hurt you. I got distracted-" Sherlock snorted loudly and I glanced up to see him turn away from me. "Sherlock, I mean it. I'm sorry."

"Fuuuck OFF!" Sherlock yelled. I waited a moment, and Sherlock said nothing.

"Sherlock-"

"I thought you were different."

"What?"

Sherlock sat up straighter and whirled around, stumbling and looking dizzy. "I thought you were different!" He shouted at me. "But you forgot about me."

"I didn't forget about you!" I protested. "I got distracted, that's all!"

"Yes, and I bet-" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence and looked confused. "Where 'm I?" He mumbled and before I could step forward, Sherlock crumpled to his knees, vomiting on my floor.

_At least it wasn't carpeted. _Thank God for small mercies.

I patted Sherlock on the back, wrinkling my nose at the vomit. There wasn't very much, just bile and water. So he hasn't been eating. I sighed and opened my mouth to say something, but as I looked down, I froze.

Silent tears trailed Sherlock's cheeks as he stared wide-eyed into nothingness. The tears came in waves, and I swear I could feel my heart break. _You broke him, you dick bag. _

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." I murmured softly, but Sherlock didn't reply as his eyes fell closed again and he fell asleep. Noticing my chance, I unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up, revealing small dots on the inside of his elbow and I sighed. I knew it.


End file.
